


Aunt Polly

by josephina_x



Category: Smallville
Genre: (...oh right...), (and so are tags :), (cause fic is fun), (headdesk), (oddly domestic considering the start of the piece), (this is not about the pairings), (wait wait -- dear god they have a tag for that? I need to go back and FIX ALL THE FICS), (why do I write these things anyway?), Alien Flora & Fauna, Cooking, Domestic Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Hospitals, Memory Alteration, Memory Loss, Mindwiping, Not Beta Read, Weirdness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-27
Updated: 2013-02-27
Packaged: 2017-12-03 19:57:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/702024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/josephina_x/pseuds/josephina_x
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clark's been having problems with the League for a long time, Lex runs into an old Aunt, and then things start getting really weird. The truth eventually outs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title: Aunt Polly  
> Author: [josephina_x](http://josephina-x.livejournal.com/)  
> Fandom: Smallville  
> Pairing: Clark, Lex  
> Rating: PG  
> Spoilers: for the entire series, post-seven-year jump (...sorta *eg*)  
> Word count: ???+  
> Summary: Clark's been having problems with the League for a long time, Lex runs into an old Aunt, and then things start getting really weird. The truth eventually outs.  
> Warnings: Un-beta'd. Plot may jerk you around a little.  
> Disclaimer: Not mine, not-for-profit.  
> Comments: Yes, please! :)  
> Author's Note: I've only cherry-picked a very few events from Smallville Season 11 to grease some wheels; it's **very** non-canon-compliant / very AU in that regard. Reading the comic won't really help provide much background for this one. (For one thing, there's no ghost!Tess.)
> 
> And yeah, this one's yet another WIP that's been waiting around in the wings since forever (along with several others; at least it's in good company?). I kept getting bursts of next-chunk-of-plot written every-so-very-couple-of-months or so, before it goes off languishing away again. Heh. Story of my fanfic life. ^_^;; Figured this part was ready for posting, at least, so here ya go :)

~*~*~*~*~*~

Lex was impeccably dressed for the event, as usual. Not in the usual white suit and black gloves this time, though -- he was back to his more usual charcoal and lavender, which truly suited him better. Not that both outfits didn't suit him -- Clark had never seen him in any less than fine form for a premiere gala, a charity ball, or any outing that could end up in the society pages, really.

Clark, on the other hand, stuck out like a sore thumb in his rumpled tuxedo that looked like it must have come second- or third-hand out of a thrift-shop. The ugly glasses and Tremorous Reporter act didn't help the spectacle much. If Lex wasn't above such things, especially with having just won his bid for the Presidency, Clark was sure that the president-elect would be chuckling to himself right about now. After all, The Reporter was supposed to go unnoticed and be unnoticeable in order to prevent close scrutiny that would have someone recognizing him as Superman, but in this sort of crowd... well, the camouflage, wasn't.

Lois was usually the one who covered these events -- solo, not wanting to share the byline -- and she was doing just that; Clark was a plus-one for someone else tonight. Their last try at their tying the knot -- number twelve -- had been thwarted yet again, in an even greater fiasco than the fourth time -- he really didn't like 'reminiscing' about the Amazon thing, even _thinking_ about robots nearly gave him hives at this point -- and Lois had decided that she was going to blame him again this time, which was normal. Telling him she wanted to take a break, however, was not.

He'd found himself kicked out of the apartment they shared in short order, and thank god apartments in Suicide Slums went cheap and easy. Given that he was practically invincible to the normal dangers and worrisome charms of bullets, muggers, pushers, and hookers, respectively, and didn't have much in the way of personal possessions to get stolen that were truly _his_ past a single suitcase of work clothes and another suitcase of... work clothes... he'd been pretty much left alone by his anti-social neighbors in the slowly-decaying building, if not the cockroaches but, well, what else were lots of ziploc plastic bags and sleep-floating good for, if not this?

Worse was that the League had never really pushed the issue of making him a full member, and with Chloe on active duty as Watchtower the majority of the time now that her kid was preschool age and her relationship with Oliver had imploded (had he really been the only one who had seen that coming after just the first month of Chloe pregnant and Oliver's eyes wandering back to Black Canary?), Clark wasn't exactly welcome around the 'Tower lately with the Lane-Sullivan man-hating cousin-solidarity tension over there.

The fact that none of the other heroes wanted to stick up for him, and in one notable case had even taken him aside and outright told him that maybe he ought to take more of a break and leave _all_ of the 'smaller stuff' to the rest of them, just burned even worse. At that point he knew that Lois had had one of her (in)famous "little talks" with the rest of them, and hearing something like that from the heroes, and Lois, something that below the surface was really just a twisted version of what Luthor was always saying about humanity not being dependent on alien influences and 'standing on their own feet' -- really just the latest guise of not wanting interference in whatever latest schemes he was cooking up -- just made him want to break down and scream for awhile.

He knew better than to do that, though. Sometime in the last couple years Chloe and Batman had teamed up and created an arsenal of Kryptonite weapons stored in several caches, and he didn't want to give either of them even the barest excuse to use them. (He knew it wasn't Lex because of the differences in the layouts and contents when he'd accidentally stumbled across them, too, one by one. That, and Lex's caches didn't tend to be nearly so lethal, or so creatively _nasty_ , as those of the Wayne-Sullivan collaboration. Nor were they boobytrapped with Bat-devices or anything else, as a rule. Probably because Luthor knew better than to restrict access to such playing-field-leveling tech when a mostly-friendly Kryptonian had a proven tendency to becoming an ally _against_ Kryptonians with world-conquering tendencies in a pinch.)

To his credit, Clark had learned from the last time with the Kandorans -- he didn't let on to either Chloe or Batman that he knew anything about them, and they stayed in the same place and the new weapons that arrived were getting worse by leaps and bounds development-wise, so he was glad for the foreknowledge and the time to be able to plan strategies to neutralize or otherwise get around them. He knew Batman didn't know he knew about the caches because Wayne was paranoid enough to move them at even a suspicion of a hint of knowledge; that didn't even touch on what Clark was worried Wayne would do if he ever realized that Clark knew who he was out of the suit. (Really, lead in the mask but not in the rest of the costume to disguise the distinctive scar patterns? Not to mention the unique smell of his custom-tailored aftershave lotion -- wasn't Batman supposed to be _smart?_ Or did he just believe that Clark was that _dumb?_ ...Well, Clark wasn't about to enlighten the "world's greatest detective" on either of those scores, thanks. He'd much rather be underestimated by madmen who posed a threat to his continued health and well-being, thank you very much.)

Lex, alternately, left little notes for 'Superman' lying around _his_ bunkers and other interesting things in-between Superman's visits for him to find. (The books Lex tended to leave lying around for him were on weapons maintenance, war tactics, self-defense, and meditation; they were ever-present and generally always pretty interesting, and the titles were rotated only once he'd finished absorbing them. The notes were, generally, half-snarky updates on changes in inventory and instructions on new items, and sometimes even pointers on their better usage when Superman practiced with them in the ever-convenient small included on-site firing range. It had actually made him laugh so hard the first time, when he realized Lex had gotten footage of him doing that and watched them so critically that he was both inclined and able to critique Clark's performance, that he had decided not to fry the cameras once he'd found them. When Lex had started leaving different-colored pens for Superman to circle the wall locations where the different types of bugs were embedded, it had almost become a game between them who could come up with the craziest and best locations to hide them versus find them the fastest.) It was clear that Lex did it just to let Superman know what was what and that, on some level, he was ok with it. It was actually kind of... nice, almost sweet, and he'd caught himself more than once thinking about spending a leisurely relaxing hour or two at one of Lex's bunkers, instead of going out to dinner or a movie with Lois or spending a 'quiet' night in at the apartment, rather than going out immediately to patrol.

Lex had never seen him as such a threat as anyone else he knew; even his reaction in the Arctic the first time had been understandable, a gradiated response, and offset by his clear regret at what he'd clearly been convinced was a necessary action at the time. By contrast, the other heroes were all deathly afraid of him -- it was the only conclusion he could draw from the existence of the caches and not a breath or hint of their existence from anyone, especially since Chloe had promised to keep him in the loop on exactly that sort of thing after the mess with the gem Kryptonite and Zod -- not to mention everyone's insistence on Watchtower knowing his location at all times, and a need for him to keep the League communicator on his person and turned on no matter the circumstance. Unfortunately, he couldn't see what, if anything, he could do about it.

And, honestly, he really didn't know what any of them wanted from him at this point -- he'd had to skip out on the wedding this time because there had been a volcano eruption in the Carribbean, then an earthquake in Guam, then a giant squid monster had attacked New Orleans and J'onn and GL and all the others hadn't been answering their comms so he'd had to take that one alone, and it had just been literally a solid string of bloody messes for the next thirty-nine hours straight, which had had him in near-collapse by the time someone had _finally_ answered on the comm and he'd gotten a breather for about the one minute of travel time and briefing on his way to Shanghai. (And, after the fact, he'd been berated for both not leaving the smaller stuff to the others -- who literally hadn't been available, he'd later found -- and for not just sticking to the big stuff when it happened -- which is what the others had been involved in while he'd been running around like mad, putting out the small- and medium-sized fires and wondering worriedly where everyone had disappeared to and why no-one was picking up the link or pitching in to help.)

Being tired as hell when he'd finally gotten someone to talk to him and tell him what the hell was going on and effectively 'swap' with him, the big fight had dragged on a lot longer than usual and his performance had been pretty sub-par for him -- not that he didn't usually have problems with magic-users, especially when Zatanna or Doctor Fate didn't 'armor' him up in protective and mirror spells beforehand. But even without the magical support, he'd sucked it up and dove into the mess at Shanghai anyway when finally asked or, well, more like finally _told_ to do so. Once he had, the others had all immediately withdrawn without a word, but despite this he had managed to resolve the situation all on his own without too much collateral damage.

And then how had the group shown their thanks? A pat on the back? A set of relieved grins? You'd think so, but no --instead he'd been berated for tiring himself out on 'lesser affairs', not paying attention to the big problems, and then being out of fighting fit for the things that did require his attention. Never mind that he couldn't hear and filter absolutely everything and that they knew he needed Watchtower to tell him about things to help him prioritize; never mind that he had tried to raise them over and over again and been outright ignored; never mind that he seriously had been taking his life into his hands going against an unknown magic user who had been outright trying to kill innocent civilians, noncombatants, and heroes alike; never mind that those 'lesser affairs' were situations that had endangered people's lives in the hundreds and thousands.

And _then_ they'd had the gall to critique him on his technique and performance -- if he'd really been doing so badly, why had they all just been standing around watching rather than helping when they'd clearly been at least able to hold their own before without him? And how was it his fault that he didn't know the things they were formally versed in when they told him not to bother because 'he was too far behind' or 'would never get it' or otherwise disinvited him every time he managed to find out about a training session they were having and crash-invited himself in the hope that this time they might actually let him join in?

He'd nearly flown off to the Fortress on the spot to try and figure out just when he'd dropped into an alternate universe where everybody hated him.

But no -- he was on his Earth, and the 'real' Heroes didn't want him doing Hero work. (Yes, he'd actually been told -- to his face! -- by no small few of them in a dismissive manner and on various occasions that the others were 'real' Heroes, as if he wasn't a part of that group description, like he didn't count at all because he was mostly invulnerable, or could fly, or for some other unknown and inexplicable reason -- because Wonder Woman and J'onn Jones apparently counted as Heroes somehow even when he didn't. He just didn't get it; he really didn't.) Batman had actually threatened Kryptonite (in a not-so-roundabout way) if he caught Kal-El doing any Superman work that wasn't classified above threat-level orange by the League -- and that if it _was_ that he'd better be first on the scene.

...Not that Clark would know if something was going on or what threat-level Watchtower decided on, what with being almost blatantly being kept out-of-the-loop on purpose lately; Clark really hated Catch-22's with a vengeance. He couldn't magically know what villain plots were breaking out on his own worldwide -- his hearing and intuition weren't that good -- not unless he pulled a Luthor and was the one making them up himself in the first place (...not that anybody had ever proved that of Luthor, yet, and boy did that drive Lois crazy sometimes). Clark also knew from experience that he couldn't guess what classifications an event would get even if he was on-scene and surveying the mess in-person. Batman, Chloe, and Tess insisted that they were consistent, but Clark was sure that they were screwing with him at this point -- he saw no rhyme or reason to the classifications, and no-one was willing or able to explain it to him, too busy or just too disgusted with him that he didn't already understand and hadn't been able to intuit on his own a system that had been in place for five years and counting.

It hadn't helped that, shortly after his being kicked out of home and his Hero workplace, he'd run into Lex on one of his final surveys of the Planet offices, getting the last few details in order before the handoff to the interim CEO who would be managing his assets while he was in office. Lex had never quite come out and said that he'd gotten his memory back from his time in Smallville and everything inbetween, and he'd never quite done anything that could be taken as positive proof that he did, in fact, know that Clark Kent wasn't just some loser four-eyed stammering fool, but every so often he'd do something indefinite that could be taken either way.

Like asking Clark if he'd like to move into the White House to be the resident reporter, since he didn't have anything tying him down at the moment.

It was kind of a subtle dig that could also be taken as either generosity or pity, assuming Lex knew about him and kept abreast of the developments in Clark's personal and professional life. Of course, if Lex didn't know, it could be taken as Luthor wanting an easily-controlled puppet to unquestioningly spout vanilla-PR back to the Planet paper for circulation.

Of course, if he did take Lex up on it -- assuming the offer was still open -- he'd be down the hall from the Amazon Ambassador's live-in quarters, which historically Diana had not used, but now that Lex was going to be the one in office... well, she was planning on keeping a much closer eye on Luthor than she had on the previous administration, which she had felt had not required that level of scrutiny. And if he was basically holed up halfway across the country with Diana, Lois would go ape-shit -- she was already half-convinced that he had been having an affair with the Hellenistic Princess already, or had been having big Amazonian orgies on those intermittent diplomatic League visits to Themyscira, and other such lunacy in a similar vein, though god knew where she got these crazy ideas.

The fact that he'd also be under the same roof with Lex would send her into even worse paroxysms, since from day one of Lex's return Clark had patently refused to spy on Lex with his super-powers _or_ break into his offices or files (as Kent or Superman -- pick your flavor), both practically cardinal sins on Lois's list, given her near-rabid hatred of all things Lex. (Some days she seriously made _Pete_ seem fair and balanced when it came to Luthors.) The fact that Clark would not do something in the pursuit of 'truth' that she'd do in a heartbeat if given half the chance had caused no few drop-down drag-out fights with her; being in the White House and privy to all sorts of confidential and national security information that he'd be unwilling or unable to pass along in good conscience would be practically a lifetime death sentence with her relationship-wise.

And if Lex remembered everything, he _could_ be offering just to screw with both of them: it'd drive Lois crazy and ruin Clark's relationship with her. Hell, even if Luthor didn't remember, they'd been hiding their relationship for seven years -- sometimes badly. Even without his memories, he could be offering for the same reasons and the same desired outcome.

It was sort of parallel to Clark's completely unfounded suspicions that Lex had had something to do with most, if not all, of the events that screwed up or otherwise broke out on his various wedding days over the years. Clark wasn't sure exactly when Lex had gotten his memory back (if he had, stupid plausible deniability -- sometimes Clark got the feeling that it was in-part revenge for his own lies in Smallville), but he suspected that when Lex had gotten the most critical memories back had been sometime between the second and third wedding attempts. He wasn't ruling out it having happened before the second one; he knew that the Apocalypse that interrupted the first hadn't been all on Lex, though (duh).

But with Lois first wanting him to spend all his time on Hero work, to the point of him having no life with her or any time for himself to try and stay sane under the stress, and now to the other extreme of practically a moratorium on Hero work entirely and Superman going into a near-retirement, not to mention going back-and-forth between every possible variation of those extremes in the past seven years, he was fed up with being jerked around. Quite frankly, Clark just didn't care anymore. Seriously, to hell with it all. That was why he'd asked Diana -- well, more like begged and called in two favors with her and more begging -- to let him come as her plus-one. This was the last night Lex was spending in Metropolis before heading to the White House in mid-December, just before Christmas, and if he was going to do this properly, he was going to need to talk to Lex in-person before he left for DC, square things away with him and get things straightened out -- clear the air once and for all, and then cross his fingers and hope and pray Lex hadn't changed his mind about the resident-reporter spot or already filled it; it had been nearly a week since Lex had offered and Clark had asked for time to think it over. Lex had made no suggestion of time pressure or any allusion to a temporary nature or trial period associated with the position, so Clark had unreasonably high hopes in that regard.

It probably said nothing good about his life that his 'professional' relationship with Luthor as either The Reporter or as Superman was in better shape than any of his other personal or professional relationships (nobody liked to put up with The Reporter, let alone Clark himself, but Lex tolerated it all with grace and nary a grimace to be seen, and Lex never insulted him or dehumanized him by calling him an Alien... unlike others he could name). It also didn't speak well that his self-proclaimed nemesis was liable to be more reasonable with him by several orders of magnitude over anyone else on or off of Earth. Maybe if this wasn't consistently the case Clark would be having second thoughts about this, but given that he knew the fallout he was going to get from Diana for not telling her why he'd wanted to attend so badly was going to be horrendous, not to mention the obvious -- Lois's blatant bridge-nuking response that would inevitably come shortly after -- and that he was still pretty solidly wanting to go through with it despite the very real risks of nontrivial physical harm to his person _and_ possible secret-identity exposure in a fit of pique, respectively, well... that should say it all, shouldn't it?

So he stood there shoulder-to-shoulder with Diana, smiling and cringing until she finally floated off to talk to Someone Important without The Reporter making her look awful by association. Then he sighed softly, pushed his glasses up, and glanced around for Lex.

"Hullo, dear!" Clark heard from his side, and he relaxed as he immediately recognized the familiar voice, turning and smiling at Diana's Queen-mother, Hippolyta. She was the one person who he always looked forward to seeing on Themyscira, who made Paradise Island seem welcoming instead of cold and isolated and foreign. She'd dubbed him an honorary 'Sister' from the first time they'd met, to his surprise and her delight at his acceptance, and they had only gotten along better over the years. He wasn't sure why, but they'd fallen into such an easy, effortless friendship that it sometimes had him questioning what was so wrong with everyone else (notorious bald Luthors excluded), rather than what must be wrong with himself.

As a big plus, she also knew all his 'identities' and had no problem associating with Reporter Kent. She always smiled a little sadly, a little consolingly, whenever she 'caught' him at it, but she understood the necessity of it, in a sense. They'd had occasion to talk about it once, and she'd actually made it bearable -- far more than Lois had ever managed. He offered his elderly friend with the youthful smile his arm, and she took it and patted it gently.

"What are you doing here?" Clark asked, curious in the extreme. "--Not that I don't enjoy the company," he backpedaled, realizing how rude that might have sounded, "but you hardly leave the Island. The last time was the Vatican visit, wasn't it?"

Hippolyta just smiled gently with a twinkle in her eye, and he sighed in a little relief. Of course she'd understood what he'd meant.

"Yes it was, but when I heard who the next President of your lovely United States of America was, I just had to come to see him in person."

"Really?" Clark asked. He'd talked a little about Lex with her, but not that much. He walked her over to Lex at a leisurely pace, giving the people ahead of them time to wrap up talking with Lex.

"Of course!" she said with a slight laugh. "I haven't seen him in ages. Imagine my surprise when I realized-- ah, Alexander!" she exclaimed as they moved close. She gave Lex a beatific smile, slipping her arm from Clark's and holding her arms out wide as she stepped forward with the complete, calm certainty of someone who _knew_ they would be well-received.

Lex turned from the previous couple he'd been absently chatting with and nearly did a double-take. His eyes went wide and he half-whispered, suddenly sounding very young, "...Aunt Polly?"

Queen Hippolyta's smile turned into a grin and she wrapped her arms around Lex in a no-hold-barred hug, which Lex reflexively returned with no small shock. In fact, he seemed to be almost clutching at her for a moment, before sliding back a little, his hands resting easily on her shoulders as he searched her eyes, and before the shock wore off -- to what Clark thought would have lead to inevitable suspicion -- he seemed to be hit with a new wave of it from the confirmed recognition, stunned beyond belief.

"Goddess, you've gotten so big! A bit thin though," she pursed her lips slightly, tilting her head consideringly, but she had a truly mischievous twinkle to her eyes -- she was obviously teasing.

"You-- you're really... you... -- _How?_ " Lex said, dazed. "You.. you're exactly the same..." The last was said with a little awe, as if he'd suddenly recovered something precious, long-lost.

Hippolyta laughed and Lex frowned slightly. "Well, Alexander, I did tell you, didn't I?" She took a half-step backwards and gestured to herself grandly. "Amazon."

"You--? ... _You--!_ " Lex spluttered. Then he seemed to draw himself up and compose himself, suddenly looking horribly annoyed.

"You said that was a secret!" Lex accused, sounding all of... extremely young.

...Okay, maybe _not_ annoyed.

Hippolyta and Lex stared at each other, the Queen perfectly calm with her hands crossed in front of her, Lex looking frustrated in the extreme and almost glaring.

Then Lex did something Clark had never seen him do before.

He _blushed_.

And then 'Aunt Polly' and Lex both broke down laughing.

Well, Clark supposed that answered his question as to whether Lex had any of his old memories or not, at least...

They'd started to draw a crowd with their unusual behavior, but for once in his life, Lex seemed to be completely and utterly oblivious to the attention.

"You--! I thought that you were just-- You... Oh my _god_ **you're** \--!" Lex's eyes got wide as he suddenly realized the implications of 'Aunt Polly' being an Amazon-of-old, and who of the two Amazons on the guest list she must be, having already met Diana on a previous occasion under less-than-auspicious circumstances.

Hippolyta downright _cackled_ gleefully and swept Lex up in another hug. Lex grinned happily, closed his eyes and returned it without reservation.

When they finally pulled away again, Lex chattered away happily, "Oh, I just cannot _believe_ that you're-- No, I take it back: yes, I can!" Lex shook his head. "You are impossible; you do know this," he added, biting his lip absently and stifling his smile only a little.

"I'd hate to disappoint you, dear," Hippolyta returned cheekily with another grin, patting him on the arm.

"Well, too late -- and you owe me the next two epic poems in the cycle after the Iliad, at least," Lex negotiated.

"Hmmm, that's true, I have missed a few birthdays, haven't I?" she pursed her lips again, and tapped a finger to them. Lex blinked and lightened at that, his eyes sparkling, and suddenly Clark realized something.

"She gave you those copies of the classics in the original ancient Greek that you had to learn to read, didn't she?" Clark blurted. Then it was his turn to blush when Lex and Hippolyta turned to him. But Hippolyta just smiled kindly and Lex just nodded once, smiling with nothing but pure relaxed happiness in an open expression.

"Mother! What are you--?" Diana started, pushing through the crowd, then stopped short when she saw Lex with her mother. "You--" she all but snarled. Clark nearly leapt between them, but Hippolyta was faster than he, turning to her irate daughter.

"Diana! There you are -- daughter, I would like you to meet Alexander," she said motioning to Lex.

For a moment, Diana froze, her mouth hanging open as she was obviously having trouble processing this pronouncement, and reconciling whatever description of 'Alexander' she'd gotten from her mother with the 'Lex Luthor' that she had encountered.

"Ah, Auntie," Lex said, sounding a bit abashed. "We've already... met."

"Oh, have you?" she said, sounding perfectly innocent and uninformed. She didn't fool Clark for a minute.

"He's _horrible!_ " Diana accused, pointing at Lex. Yes, Clark remembered that encounter. Lex had been mucking about with exoskeletons and terrorists had gotten a hold of some of them. He had had his own people using the rest of the prototypes to try and resolve the situation 'in-house' and hadn't been pleased at the 'interruption' by the Leaguers who'd shown up. It hadn't been pretty, and Lex hadn't exactly put his best foot forward with Diana, being a bit ticked off and not doing too well in his own barely-functional suit. Having issues with LexCorp technology generally always had Lex in a grumpy mood at best.

"There... may have been a bit of miscommunication at the time..." Lex winced, blushing ever so slightly again, and sliding his hands into his pants pockets.

Now that was interesting -- Clark hadn't seen _this_ Lex in a long time.

...Then again, when was the last time he'd seen, and really talked with, Lex in person?

More than seven years, if he was honest. A decade, in fact. He hadn't been anything close to resembling himself with Lex in a decade.

And suddenly he realized that that... hurt. How much he missed their conversations from back when they were still friends and hadn't been fighting all the time, and that those weapons bunker games really had been a pale, poor substitute. He'd never realized how much so; hadn't _let_ himself think it, if he was honest with himself.

He didn't know what was playing out on his face just then, but when he looked up Lex was looking at him oddly.

He dropped his gaze again and he let the formal gathering became mostly white noise as the bickering Diana was trying to instigate with Hippolyta started to get louder and then switched to what he assumed was ancient Greek.

"What are you doing here?" he heard at his elbow, and that he couldn't tune out. He turned to see Lois at his elbow.

"Lois," he started, absently pushing the glasses back up his nose, but she cut him off with a glare.

"How did you get in? You're not on the list!" she hissed under her breath. "This is my story, Kent!"

And with that, Clark suddenly felt very cold. No 'Smallville', no 'Clark', just 'Kent' pronounced like an insult, and nothing but a rejoinder to get off of _"her"_ story, which he hadn't been impinging on at all, and when had she gotten so blind and territorial and just downright mean? He gritted his teeth and stared down at her, wondering when and where everything had gone so horrifically wrong and pear-shaped.

Then Clark realized that he was staring _down_ at her -- he wasn't slouching; sometime between when Hippolyta had shown up and seeing Lex he'd forgotten to.

He turned to Lex.

"Mr. Luthor, may I have a word in private?" he asked calmly, straightforwardly, without a stutter, and completely ignoring Lois.

Lex's eyebrows raised in surprise, but he recovered quickly. He glanced at the two Amazons, who obviously weren't finishing their discussion anytime soon, then nodded to Clark and then to a side door. Lex led, Clark followed, and the Secret Service detained Lois before she got to the hallway.

Her cursing followed them down the corridor, but she didn't.

Lex led them to a small, cozy sitting room, and at some subtle signal, the Secret Service agent who had followed them took up a post outside the door. Lex closed it and took a seat, gesturing for Clark to also sit.

Clark breathed out a quick sigh of... --well, he wasn't sure what, not quite relief -- and sat down. Then, realizing that there was no putting anything off anymore, and firmly placed square in the middle of Lex's deep and penetrating gaze, he fought the urge to squirm.

Instead, he straightened in his chair, looked Lex straight in the eye -- like he hadn't been able to do in ages -- and said, "I'm sorry if this is abrupt..." He couldn't help but trail off, and he had to close his eyes. (At least he hadn't had to look away.) Then he gulped slightly and steeled himself, because lord knew if it had actually been a serious offer, before continuing: "But have you filled the resident reporter position at the White House yet?"

A long silence greeted his question, and he finally couldn't take it. He slitted open his eyes.

Lex was staring at him with unaffected, but slight surprise. --But it _was_ surprise.

"No, I haven't filled the position yet," Lex said smoothly, leaning back and settling into the cushions of the couch with relaxed ease. He brought up his arms and let them dangle across the back of the couch, crossed his legs.

There was another long silence.

Clark couldn't quite work up the nerve to ask if...

...and Luthor wasn't offering.

Right. Sure. Yes. --Of _course_ he hadn't meant it, why would he? Nemeses, rememeber? Clark choked down a shaky laugh and dropped his head. Because it was just another mind game -- one in a long list of them from everyone else he knew, and why should he have expected anything different? Just because it was _Lex_ \--

"Clark--" Lex said in an unreadable tone, and Lex's hand was on his arm, preventing him from taking another step. He'd stood up, meaning to leave, because this? He just couldn't take. He just couldn't. Not right then. Not like this. Superman might be able to take this sort of thing, over and over, but this was Clark, this was _Clark's_ life they were talking about, or that Clark had meant to, and everything was just too raw, especially after Lois had just... and Lex had been so friendly with _Hippolyta_... and...

He was shaking, and he was _not_ looking up, because then he'd _know_ \--

\--he'd know that he'd misunderstood what he'd thought was true, hoped maybe a little too hard for to see things clearly as they really were and...

Now he'd know for certain, and then--

"Sit down," Lex said quietly, and Clark wanted to run like hell, but Lex was still holding on to him.

\--nothing would ever be the same, and--

"Sit down," Lex repeated softly, and Clark wouldn't do that, shook his head once, decisively -- desperately -- because he'd be damned if Lex stood over him and said what he would; at the very least he could have some height on him as Lex chopped him down to nothing.

There was another silence, as they both stood there, locked in something that wasn't a contest and had nothing to do with their wills, and Lex blew out a breath.

"Is it really so hard for you to ask?" he said in muted tones, and Clark flinched away. He couldn't help but do so.

And then he felt Lex's hand on his chin, and he glanced up, startled.

\--Which he hadn't meant to do at all, but he did, and he got caught in Lex's gaze...

Lex...

...was not angry.

His eyes were not laughing.

There was no derisive sneer.

No pity.

Just...

Pain.

Reflected pain. Hurt.

Lex was hurting... for him.

"Oh god," Clark whispered, and when Lex's hand came up to touch him on the chin again, tears started tracking down his cheeks.

"Sorry, sorry," Clark blurted out, wiping at his eyes, and he gave a shaky laugh, but Lex didn't move away -- he just waited.

When Clark got himself at least a little under control again, Lex brought a hand back up to his cheek.

He smiled slightly, then reached up and played with Clark's hair just a bit, rearranging it across his forehead gently.

Clark just sort of... leaned a little forward, and the next thing he knew he was leaning into him, and then they were hugging.

Clark gave a shuddering sigh, and Lex just hushed him softly, rubbing a hand up and down his back.

"It's ok, Clark," Lex told him, and Clark's breath caught. He swallowed around a lump in his throat, and his chest started to hurt.

"It's ok," Lex repeated, and the hurt in his chest blossomed and got worse.

"W-what..." Clark said, confused and in pain, actual pain.

"Sh. Everything's going to be all right," Lex crooned to him, but it wasn't, it wasn't all right, and when Clark's knees gave out, Lex held on and followed him down to the floor, held him whimpering against his chest.

"It's going to be all right," Lex told him soothingly.

Then he dropped his head and whispered into Clark's ear, "It's time to wake up."

Clark groaned in confusion, writhing slightly in Lex's arms at the hurt worse than Kryptonite.

"You need to fight it, Clark," Lex told him earnestly. "You need to wake up."

Clark looked up into Lex's eyes, and heard him say, "It's killing you, and I don't want that."

And then Lex's expression went hard and cold and he demanded in a staccato bark: "Wake _up_ , Superman! _NOW!_ "

And that hurt more than anything else did or ever had.

Clark shoved away, _hard_ , pushing-wrenching- _twisting_ away from--

~*~*~*~*~*~

Clark came to, gasping, on the floor of the Fortress.

Batman was kneeling over him.

He was holding a writhing plant-like flowering.... _alien_ thing.

...with gnashing teeth and thorns and tentacles at the very center of it.

It pounced for Wayne's chest, the tentacles _cracked_ the man's body armor-plating--

\--and Clark vaporized it with an extreme burst of heat-vision.

"...Bruce, what--?" he croaked, managing to lever himself up slowly, painfully -- his chest really did hurt.

"What do you remember?" Batman asked.

Clark stared up at him blankly, not entirely sure what he was asking.

He paused for too long, and Batman spoke up again. "The plant was called the Black Mercy," Batman told him, and they both winced as the Fortress of Solitude shook at its very foundations. "Mongul sent you a box with it inside. Wonder Woman is fighting him off now."

 _To give you time to remove it_ , Clark realized, looking at Bruce's odd energy gloves -- set to electroshock this time, it looked like.

"Guess we'd better give her a hand before Diana steals all the fun?" Clark said with a weak smile.

But Batman just frowned at him. "No. You're injured and not at full-strength; you're a liability right now. Stay here." He was off in a flourish of cloak, faster than fast.

Superman frowned and slowly started pushing himself to his feet.

Batman shot a glare back over his shoulder at him.

Superman stayed put.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Mongul got sent to the Phantom Zone -- not difficult, they **were** _right there_ in the Fortress, after all -- and Superman had to wonder a little if, maybe, just maybe, Mongul had gone down a little too easily. For a man-monster who wanted to fight endlessly and rule over a world of pain and despair, the Phantom Zone _was_ practically a paradise, wasn't it?

Eh, Mongul and General Zod could sort it out, Clark figured. It'd probably keep 'em both happy. Zod had more-or-less conquered the Zone and consolidated his power (yet again), and had started testing the boundaries of the Zone again, lately -- this would keep him busy.

Clark was hardly worried about the two of them working together, though: they were both too prideful to ally with someone so obviously close to their own power level and wanting to rule solely and wholly alone. Maybe Major Zod would have been able to bow for a short period of time before a well-placed knife in a rival's gut, but General Zod was too stiff-backed for that sort of thing anymore, and Mongul just didn't _do_ playing nice. He lived for battle on his own terms, and was far too smart to be anyone's puppet.

When Batman told him about Oa's entry on the "Black Mercy" a la his own personal copy of the Green Lantern database, Clark was very glad that he hadn't shared his 'dream' with either of them. It did give him a lot to think about though.

Mostly Clark just came to the conclusion that the Oan database was just plain wrong -- easy enough, given that apparently 'Superman' now had the dubious distinction of having been the first-ever survivor of exposure to the "Black Mercy". He could see many-a-victim's family being comforted by the idea that the plant fed its victim coma-dreams of their heart's deepest desire... while they were slowly being eaten alive by the "Mercy". Ugh.

Batman thought that maybe the 'desire'-turning-dark thing -- which Clark had _not_ elaborated upon, thank you; he'd only indicated that the dreams had _not_ been all that pleasant -- had maybe been Clark's mind fighting back, struggling against the psychic plant to break free.

Either way, it left a pretty big question for him -- if it was supposed to be giving him his heart's deepest desire, why had everything else gone so bad for just one brief moment of peace with Lex? Wouldn't it have been better if everybody had gotten along _and_ he and Lex had reconciled? Or was he so certain that he could only have one or the other that if the plant had tried to feed that vision to him, that he would have known immediately that it wasn't real? ...Because that was a purely depressing thought.

Or, conversely, if he'd been fighting back, then why had his dreams started to deteriorate almost from the start? And what did it say about him that apparently he considered Lex not only a missing source of comfort in his life over his own fiance, but also his deepest subconscious warning to be trusted in his most dire need, and his last-resort mental kick-in-the-pants motivator when he was just about ready to give up and die?

...Eh. His first thought was probably right. That Oan database entry was probably just full of cow shit.

That, or the plant just didn't mesh well with Kryptonian biology. Occam's Razor, hard at work.

~*~*~*~*~*~

 _...Of course, there could be another theory,_ Clark thought weakly as he nearly stumbled over his feet at the threshold of the elevator door later that afternoon. (Late again. Sigh. Why couldn't proximity alarms that went off in his Fortress on his birthday actually be a surprise party and presents, rather than an ambush -- was that too much to ask?) Lex was sitting at his Daily Plant desk along the far wall of the top floor. ...Waiting for him?

Clark's desk. Lex was sitting at _Clark's_ desk.

...Maybe he wasn't waiting for him. He didn't look up at Clark, and Lois wasn't there. Yeah. Probably just waiting for Lois.

The other thought -- that what had happened while he'd been under the Black Mercy had been like some kind of prophetic dream -- was a bit scary. He'd had those before, and they'd always turned out just a little bit different. In really scary ways. ...And this Lex was probably more likely to actually shatter a metal sword on his arm than stop before hitting him.

Actually, no -- _this_ Lex was probably more likely to _cut through_ his arm, having been well-prepared with refined green-Kryptonite in the titanium-steel mix, a just-in-case just for Superman.

"Mr. President-Elect," Clark nodded in a mumble under his breath as he set his stack of folders down at his desk, keeping his head down.

"...I beg your pardon?" Lex said.

Clark blinked and looked up at Lex.

Lex... was not wearing a white suit with black gloves. Why had he thought that?

...Wait. What day was it? ...The date?

Clark blinked again, rubbed at his right temple with the base of his palm, and let his head drop and swivel towards his computer screen.

...Not his computer screen. Not his desk.

Clark blinked again.

"...Are you feeling all right, Mr. Kent?" he heard Lex ask.

Clark blinked yet again as he straightened. He opened his mouth to respond... and then sort of got hung up there, feeling like things were shifting inside his head, and trying to sort through everything. ...God, his mind felt like the inside of a rummage sale, dumped out all over the floor. Several rummage sales. Mounds of stuff. Not all of it real. Oh, hell.

"I..." Clark frowned, then stepped back slightly. "I'm not sure." He blinked again, and Lex was wearing white. Another blink, and his suit was charcoal-grey and faded-purple. Two black gloves. No. One. One black-- No, two. --No, one... White suit again--

Clark closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache coming on.

He didn't get headaches.

Something was wrong.

"Mr. Kent?"

"I think I need to sit down," Clark said slowly, the words feeling heavy.

And then he was. On the floor.

The room was swaying.

Clark shivered and opened his eyes when he felt something cool against his forehead.

Lex was laying the back of his bare left hand against his skin. (One glove, not two.) He looked almost... concerned.

Lex was squatted down in front of him, actually touching him, and--

"You have a fever," Lex informed him at a low murmur. "Why are you at work?"

"Because it's... a Tuesday...?"

Lex stared at him, a gaze that burrowed its way to the back of his brain. ...It wasn't all that uncomfortable, even if the things piled up in his head that were in the way of that gaze felt like they were getting knocked over in the process.

"Are you asking me or telling me?" Lex said quietly, as he slowly pulled his hand back.

Clark blinked, and tried to focus. He tried so desperately to. But his own conscious thoughts felt like molasses. "I..."

Clark was never actually sure what he'd been about to say. It had been that point at which everything had gone black.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Clark awoke to beeping monitors, white sheets, and a long considering look.

"Welcome back to the land of the living," Lex Luthor informed him, as he casually leaned back against the metal bedframe of the hospital bed Clark was currently lying in and stared down at him.

Lex's arms were crossed. That was never good. That was a warning sign of anger, of lack of forgiveness, of...

Otis, Lex's personal assistant, wasn't with Lex like he usually was. That was worse. That meant Lex had something to say that he didn't want _anybody_ else to hear.

"How did you manage to get half-a-dozen or so odd alien plant tentacles burrowing their way around inside your chest?" Lex asked him.

 _Wha--?_ Clark stared up at him blankly, until it slowly dawned on him.

"They didn't all come out before?" Electricity usually worked wonders against evil alien plant-stuff.

Lex's eyes narrowed slightly.

Clark blinked, then reached a hand up to finger his chest as he tried to look down at himself.

All bandages. His chest and torso were completely swathed in them. That probably wasn't good, either.

"You're lucky that some parts of them were writhing around close enough to the surface of your chest that I had half-an-idea of what was going on when you collapsed in the middle of the top floor at the Planet," Lex told him.

Uh oh. _My chest? But then Lex would have had to unbutton my shirt and he would have seen..._

Oh, wait. Huh. No, come to think of it, he was pretty sure he'd not been wearing the Superman-suit under his clothes earlier. Batman had been pretty insistent about Clark taking off at least a few days. So had Wonder Woman, come to think of it. Batman had practically confiscated the suit from him. ...And Clark was _pretty_ sure that he hadn't hallucinated that.

The League cared about him. His personal and professional relationships with the League... and with Lois... were a lot better than his coma-dreams had been... he was pretty sure. There had been some surface similarities, but no actual animosity or fear or anything underneath. ...Right?

Then something else twigged his notice.

"I'm in the STAR Labs medical wing," Clark said, rotating his head from side to side, and blinking as he took it all in. He didn't usually see it from this perspective.

"You had alien plant matter in your chest," Lex repeated slowly. "It was trying to eat you alive." Geeze, he didn't _really_ have to talk as if Clark's head would still rattle if he shook it, did he? "A particularly thorny strand of it was working its way up and around your heart. That's not a job for Met Gen."

"Oh." Right.

Lex stared at him.

"Um. You didn't get any on you, right?" Clark asked.

Lex stared at him some more.

"...No, I didn't get any on me," Lex said after a bit of a pause.

Clark nodded, then paused.

"Um. You didn't get any _in_ you, right?" Clark revised belatedly.

Lex's mouth quirked slightly.

"No, I didn't get any in me, either," Lex let him know.

"Oh. Okay. Good," Clark said agreeably.

"Mm," said Lex.

"...I think I'll gonna fall asleep now," Clark informed Lex.

"You do that."

Clark closed his eyes, took in a deep breath that, wonder of wonders, _didn't hurt_ , let it out slow, and promptly fell asleep.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Lex stayed, watching over him, until he didn't.

~*~*~*~*~*~

When Clark woke up next, he was confused all over again.

For starters, he was in a really comfortable bed -- a bed that wasn't his.

_What happened to STAR Labs?_

It took him a moment to realize, and revise that thought to be: _When did I leave STAR labs?_

_And where am I now?_

He levered himself up onto his elbows, then sat up slowly. He swiveled his head slowly, looking around.

The bedroom door opened, and Clark squinted slightly at the difference in lighting.

Lit from behind, Lex Luthor stood in the doorway.

Clark blinked once, twice as Lex flipped a switch and a muted light came on next to Clark's bedside.

Clark shifted slightly, frowning to his left at the lamp, then flicking his eyes back up to Lex as he approached and sat down at the foot of the bed.

"How are you feeling?" Lex asked casually.

...Well, Lex's clothing didn't seem to be attempting to change on him every few seconds, so Clark figured he was probably over the hallucinatory episodes from the remnants of the Black Mercy.

So he told Lex, "Better," and left it at that.

He glanced down at his chest as he let himself sit back against the headboard and realized that he was wearing flannel pajamas. Blue flannel pajamas.

"Um..." said Clark.

 _Do I really want to know who put these on me?_ he asked himself.

"Between the bandages around your chest and your boxers -- which the surgical staff did not need to cut off of you -- you were wearing more than most people do at the beach when you were helped into those nightclothes," Lex told him with a pointed nod. "I don't think you should be worrying about having lost any sense of propriety."

"Oh," said Clark.

There was silence for awhile, and it wasn't exactly a comfortable one with the way Lex was staring at him.

"So, um, where am I?" Clark finally asked, breaking the silence.

"My Penthouse."

"Oh," Clark said. Then he frowned and asked, "Why?"

Lex got a slow smirk. "Well, the nurse I talked to didn't seem to have a problem with me taking you home with me and taking care of you in the interim, as Superman apparently has no known address or relatives."

Clark blinked at him.

"Ah, did I not mention that earlier when you first woke? I must have forgotten to give your name to the surgical staff and they signed you in as Superman. Emil certainly seemed to think that was who you were, given that your physiology apparently matches those records exactly."

_Uh..._

Clark valiantly fought the urge to slouch down into the bed under Lex's very sharp gaze.

"How very interesting, don't you think?" Lex added lightly, looking almost amused... except for his eyes.

His very sharp, very cold eyes.

Clark swallowed.

"Uh... sure..." he said uneasily.

"Do you know what I find even more interesting?" Lex asked, just as lightly.

"...No?"

"Mm. Well, it seems that, this morning, Superman vanished from my satellite tracking system at approximately 7:32am at a point over Chicago. I was able to reacquire the trace at 10:48am, from somewhere outside of Smallville, Kansas."

_Uh oh._

"And, then, oddly, Superman took a straight path to Metropolis, to an apartment building leased to one Miss Lois Lane and one Mr. Clark Kent, did... _something_... there for about forty-two seconds, and then jetted straight for the Daily Planet building, where, coincidentally, I ran into you on the top floor."

_...stupid, stupid, stupid..._

"And, upon checking the more refined tracking model, guess where Superman's movements in the building showed him leading up to, at the point at which I ran into you?"

Clark slowly, painfully closed his eyes and let himself slide back down flat on the bed.

"...Lex?"

"Yes?"

"This may sound like a stupid question..."

"Mm?"

"...but could you answer it for me anyway?"

An expectant silence.

"What's today's date?"

A not-so-amused silence.

Lex told him, though.

Clark sighed.

"Well, I guess that explains why my brain felt like it went through a blender," Clark muttered, rubbing his palms over his face. _And why Lex still has tracking on me that works._ It was only 2012. He still had that weird radiation-tag in his system that allowed Luthor to track him. _...Er, maybe **still** is the wrong term for it._ Clark realized. After all, the Black Mercy dreams hadn't been real, right?

"...You're not going to attempt to pretend that you're some strange Superman from another timeline, are you?" Lex said in descending, warning, borderline-violent tones.

Clark sighed.

"Do you want me to?" he asked Lex, cracking his eyes open and letting his arms splay out from his sides, thumping down onto the bedsheets.

It was Lex's turn to blink at him.

"Look," Clark said reasonably. "Can we just... I don't know, let this go for a bit? Today's my birthday, and so far I've almost died twice, had six-and-a-half-years worth of false memories shoved through my brain in less than three hours, and apparently just outed myself to you again."

"... _Again?!?_ " Lex spluttered, outraged. "You mean I knew _Before??_ "

Clark sighed and tossed an arm over his face.

 _ **So** glad he doesn't remember about the alien thing or the meteor rock thing,_ Clark mentally groaned, because otherwise he realized he'd probably have to be dealing with a green death-by-radiation-poisoning right about then. _Happy birthday to me._

~*~*~*~*~*~

Lex was not pleased with that morning's developments.

Certainly, he would be under _normal_ circumstances, but Superman did always have a tendency to screw things up on him in a way that went so far beyond the pale that it might as well have been the deepest pitch-black and thoroughly garbled gooey tar-stuck mess that anyone could ever have imagined.

Superman. _Clark Kent._ Damn him.

He hadn't even had the decency to panic when Lex threatened to expose him in a fit of pique, after finding out that the man had lied to him about knowing him previously. That was just insult on top of injury, right there. _'Go ahead,' my foot! I'll show him!_

...The worst part of it was that the man had had a point about outing him being a dumb idea.

After all, Kent had gotten used to not being able to do or be anything other than Superman for the last month. His fiance was missing him sorely and had started having clandestine rooftop meetings with Superman at times. The rest of the time, Lane generally seemed perfectly capable of taking care of herself. Kent's adoptive mother was a no-nonsense woman, a well-liked, well-guarded U.S. Senator; no-one was about to mess with her -- the woman was practically untouchable. Lane's four-star-general father was in a similar unassailable position of power and authority. Clark Kent didn't really have any friends or family, other than those three, who weren't other League members like Oliver and Chloe Queen-Sullivan, so there was really no-one else left to be threatened or end up in further danger if someone learned of Superman's secret.

Not to mention that anybody who might not worry about pissing off Superman by going after Clark Kent's life would definitely think twice about taking on Batman... _and_ Green Arrow... _and_ the rest of the League. They would most assuredly close ranks and take as a personal offense the actions of anyone or anything that might dare to attempt to cross that particular sort of _very_ off-limits line in the sand.

And anyone who might be insane enough to think it would be great fun to run that gauntlet would also most likely be pissed off at Lex for spilling the secret-identity beans and 'spoiling the surprise'. And, given Lex's luck, anyone that insane would probably come after Lex _first_ , damnit.

Basically, what it came down to was that, as things stood, there would be no resulting great detriment to Kent's current lifestyle, existence, or loved ones if Lex told, and conversely possibly rather difficult times ahead for Lex if he did.

Worse, Superman-Kent had been the one to point this all out in calm, world-weary tones, so it wasn't as though the self-proclaimed Hero didn't know it himself and could be blackmailed effectively in ignorance. And then after having orating such out loud, as though Lex had been incapable of figuring that out on his own, the man had had the utter audacity to _roll over and fall back asleep!_ The nerve of him!

You'd think the man thought himself invulnerable!

\--And _clearly_ he wasn't, because apparently some nasty alien plant-form of life had been making a light snack out of his innards not a few hours prior!

Lex grumbled to himself, cast a glare back at the bedroom door -- ajar, not quite closed -- then in a fit of pique stomped back over, pulled it shut, and locked it before heading one floor further downstairs to get back to work.

 _'Go ahead,' my..._ Lex grumbled and grumbled away.

~*~*~*~*~*~

" _ **WHERE IS HE!?!?!?**_ " Lex had screamed at him by one Chloe Sullivan, who had burst in through his office door and no doubt startled his assistant Otis speechless in the process.

Lex had no such issues. "I've no idea, Sullivan," Lex drawled, head down in his paperwork at his desk. "I'm not your husband's keeper. Try the red light district."

"What???" she shrieked.

"I was of course referring to Oliver's so-called 'crimefighting' vigilante work and his usual M.O. of picking up teenage prostitutes to train them in the use of medieval weaponry," Lex continued smoothly, referring to Green Arrow's young 'protege' Mia.

"Uh..." came a male voice that did not belong to Otis.

Lex blinked once, then finally looked up.

Oliver was standing behind Chloe, looking distinctly uncomfortable. Perhaps he was feeling ill-at-ease, caught out in a confrontation without having first donned his usual Hero gear?

Hm. If Queen was _here_ , then...?

Chloe crossed her arms and looked down her nose at him stormily. "Don't pretend you don't know who I'm talking about!" she demanded.

Lex blinked.

"You brought him into STAR Labs, and now he's missing!" she accused.

"Ah," he said, his mind switching gears as enlightenment hit. " _That_ 'him'."

"Well?!?!"

"Why would you be interested in Superman?" Lex tested, his poker face thoroughly in place.

"He's a member of my husband's League. Why the hell wouldn't I be!?!" Chloe demanded.

 _Ah,_ Lex thought. _They don't know what happened at the Daily Planet._ He'd been waiting to talk to the editor-in-chief, having a few choice things to say about Lois Lane's latest break-in at a LexCorp facility -- this very tower, in fact. Running into Superman-as-Kent -- or Kent running into _him_ , rather -- had happened by sheer accident of circumstance.

Lex suddenly wondered whether they even knew that Kent was Superman, or vice-versa.

"Where is he?!" Chloe repeated her demand, stepping closer to his desk, Oliver trailing behind.

Lex sighed and waved a hand, staying seated where he was. "Upstairs, most likely, where I left him." He put his head back down, fully intending to get back to work.

"You kidnapped him! Abducted him again!" Chloe accused.

Lex brought his head back up again.

...Why on Earth did Oliver suddenly look so uncomfortable?

"Do you have anything to add to this...?" Lex asked as he turned to Oliver, with a slight wave of a hand at Chloe, to indicate Chloe's attempted grilling in the guise of a conversation.

Oliver frowned.

Chloe turned and stared at her husband.

Oliver sighed, then straightened, squared his shoulders, and asked, "Can we see him?"

"Certainly," Lex said over Chloe's shocked and outraged spluttering. "Although..." he trailed off.

"'Although,' _what?_ " Chloe snapped, with a follow-up glare.

Lex sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers in front of him. "Well, you have to understand," he began solicitously. "When I first... came upon... your friend," he smiled, "this morning he was rather ill."

"So?" Chloe glowered.

" _So_ ," Lex drew out ponderously, "as the ailment he was suffering from was, oddly enough, a bout of deadly alien plant-matter that had burrowed down through and into his normally-invulnerable chest, it was not exactly what I would call an everyday occurrence." His smile thinned. "And at no point did he mention knowing how it had happened to him, or who had inflicted such a horrifying thing upon him." He leaned back in his chair slightly further. "So, you see why I might wish some assurances from you that neither of you were the ones to do such a thing to him, before letting you into the same room as him."

Chloe spluttered. Oliver looked speechless.

"Of course, if you can't..." Lex trailed off, then spread his hands apart in a 'what can you do?' manner.

"You can't keep him here against his will!" Chloe said angrily.

"I'm not," Lex said, wondering where on Earth she'd gotten _that_ idea had come from. "And I certainly would not wish to," Lex agreed easily enough. "Yet, I doubt that he has suddenly and inexplicably somehow forgotten how to stand up and walk, operate a doorknob, navigate a room, or press buttons on an elevator control panel." Lex didn't bring up that he'd actually locked the door upstairs; there was no reason to. He very much doubted that the lock on the door would actually be able to keep a superpowered Kent from going anywhere, after all.

The room also had perfectly serviceable windows and, well, Superman _could_ float.

"We're going upstairs!"

"No, you are not," Lex told her, in a voice that was the calm before the storm.

He flicked his eyes over to Otis, giving him a measured look. Otis gave him a slight nod and surreptitiously pressed a few buttons on his tablet screen.

A few LexCorp guards walked into the room. _Ah, good man, Otis._ His assistant must have called them earlier and had merely been waiting for his signal.

Chloe whirled in place, and Oliver turned more slowly with a frown.

"They are here to escort you out of the building," Lex informed the married couple. "Peacefully."

"What, you think we can't just--" Chloe began, irate.

Lex tilted his head slightly and pursed his lips. "Of course, if you wish to assault my staff on private property, in the middle of my corporate headquarters, during the course of their normal jobs in the middle of their business workday, in broad daylight, I and my employees will of course, sadly, be forced to defend ourselves." He smirked. "And hand over the security tapes to the police and the news stations shortly thereafter. And then, further, sue you for damages."

Chloe snarled out a curse. Oliver just looked angry, and stumped.

"Though I don't see why you are in such a state over his stay here. I do believe that I left his cellphone upstairs on his bedside table, and there is a separate phone line for the Penthouse as well. If he had wanted to contact you, I'm sure he would have done so by now," Lex informed them smoothly.

Neither of them seemed to respond well to that, though Oliver did try to share a look with his wife, but Chloe was too upset and too focused on Lex and the guards to respond to whatever covert communication Oliver had hoped to enact.

Lex looked back down at his paperwork and made a waving motion towards the doors of his office. "Otis, please see them out."

Wonder of wonders, they looked like they were going to leave without a fight.

So of course Lex brought his head up for one more parting shot.

"Oh, and Chloe?" he said sweetly with a smile. " _Do_ tell your cousin that I'd love to see her this afternoon, please. If you happen to have the chance. I've _love_ to do an interview with her, one-on-one," he said. "Just the two of us."

The looks on the faces of the two Sullivan-Queens was utterly priceless, and absolutely worth it.

...At least, it was up until he realized that he'd missed his scheduled conference call with the Chinese ambassador to the US. Now he was probably going to have to spend several hours offering up his most 'sincerest and regret-filled' apologies and trying to reschedule it. Damn it all! It had taken two-and-a-half weeks to finally get this one scheduled!

~*~*~*~*~*~

Lex sighed deeply as he loosened his tie and headed back upstairs to the Penthouse.

He frowned as he walked by the guest room on the way to his own, then backtracked and stared at the door.

It wasn't broken, and it still looked locked.

Lex unlocked the door and stepped inside, fully expecting to see an open window.

He did not see an open window.

What he did see was a prone form lying on the bed. From the looks of things, it seemed as if Superman-Kent had never gotten up again after...

Lex stepped in and walked over quickly, frowning.

He reached down and put a hand to the man's neck, feeling for a pulse.

...Hm. He had a pulse. ...and seemed to be breathing. Perhaps he needed additional recovery time?

If so, he most likely hadn't eaten anything yet that day, which would not be conducive to said healing process, one would assume.

"Kent," Lex said, shaking his shoulder gently.

Superman-Kent didn't make a sound. His breathing just kept going, slow and deep, in... and out... in... and out...

Lex sighed, sat down on the edge of the bed, and pinched the bridge of his nose.

 _What am I doing?_ he asked himself.

He wasn't worried about the man -- far from it. Honestly, he _knew_ better, he knew he did. No-one with the level of power that Superman had could hold it, wield it, and stay uncorrupt. He would be corrupted by it, sooner or later.

But then, that was the sticking point, wasn't it? _He would be,_ implying that _he was not yet, not now._

Lex tilted his head and looked down at the man dispassionately. How had he picked 'Superman' for a nom de plume anyway? Had it really been all Lane? Or had he been bullied into it, with the 'Supergirl' who had been named before him. --And were they related somehow? Where was she, now?

It suddenly occurred to Lex that, knowing Kent's secret identity, as it were, he could approach the problem from the opposite end: search for family members of Kent, then see who had disappeared and when, and who he could track down if he could.

Of course, he would have to be discreet about it -- anyone who caught wind of a sudden odd interest of a Luthor would surely become curious as to _why_ that sudden interest had been sparked.He didn't want anyone to find out what he had through a sloppy mistake of his own -- leave that for Kent himself.

Superman-Kent. Super Man-Kent. Super-Kent? Super-Clark? Clark-Man? Kent-Man? ...Hm. He'd have to think on that one awhile. _Super-Kent has possibilities, though. That could be used as a backhanded complimentary-slur against Mrs. Kent, and-- oh..._

Suddenly it made sense why the woman had campaigned so hard for the Vigilante-Heroes against the Vigilante Registration Act. Her own (adopted) son was one of them, after all. Hm.

"Mmph," Clark mumbled, and shifted slightly in his sleep.

Lex spared him a glance before returning to his musings.

\--Why did he wear such clashing colors anyway? Red, blue, and black, with just a touch of yellow. Just... _why?_ It would have been all right, if not for the red cape. Was there some unspoken rule that all Hero capes had to be red? The Martian Manhunter's cape was red. So was Captain Marvel's, and Wonder Woman's, and... really, the only odd one out there was Batman in basic black, and no-one should be surprised that Batman did it differently, considering.

Oh, no, wait, Booster Gold's cape was a bright canary yellow. ...All right. So appparently being Batman or a crazy guy who thought he was from the future allowed you to be an exception to the rule. Certifiable lunatics got to tap out. Fine. Lex _still_ thought it was silly.

Green and blue wouldn't work for Super-Kent very well though, and -- yes, he was sticking with that mental name, thank you; he liked it, it worked -- yellow and blue would be awful; orange and blue, worse. Blue-and-blue was probably.. too much blue. Purple and blue... had some possibilities, perhaps, but that would be entirely dependent on the shade of purple. Black might do in a pinch; white would be horrific, though.

Lex looked him over, mentally picturing the new color-palleted attire on him instead of the blue pajamas Super-Kent was currently dressed in. Blue bodysuit with light grey accents, deep black cape -- hmmm, no, scratch that, perhaps a grey would work better to tie it all together. A slate grey, of a slightly darker shade than the suit accents would really make it pop. Ah, and he would be harder to spot in the sky, the next time someone tried to fire at him--

Lex blinked and rethought the idea. Red capes were much easier to target from the ground. They were much easier to spot, the perfect wavelength to capture the human eye- and brain's attention. It would be rather like shooting at a waving flag. Did he really want to make Super-Kent harder to shoot down now, when he would have to at some indeterminate time later? Hmm.

_But he'd look so much nice-- er, more **professional** a Hero with a cape of a different color!_

Hmmmmmmmm...

~*~*~*~*~*~

Clark woke slowly the second time. He grumbled a little to himself and nestled further under the covers at first, ignoring the nagging feeling of something not-quite-right, because he'd been feeling _that_ for ages, and _this_ was an honest-to-goodness _bed_ and, by god, he was going to enjoy it while he--

Then his brain 'helpfully' reminded him exactly where said comfortable bed was and who it belonged to, and Clark groaned softly to himself and blinked his eyes open.

He sighed at the mostly-dark room.

_Wait..._

Clark rolled over.

Lex was sitting upright on the other side of the bed, relaxed and cushioned against the headboard, with a book in his hands, reading by the light of the lamp on the nightstand next to him. He raised his head when Clark shifted on the mattress, then slowly looked Clark up and down with a strange, unreadable intent.

Clark blinked at him a few times. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"I'm still trying to decide whether to steal your cape and replace it, or not," Lex told him, slowly lowering the book to his lap. A quick glance at the spine informed Clark that it was a primer on sewing.

"...I'm not wearing my cape," Clark told Lex, just in case he hadn't noticed after the whole dressing-him-in-pajamas thing, or anything.

"Yes, I know," Lex said sourly as he slipped a bookmark in-between the pages and set the book on the nightstand to the side.

"Well, how would you steal it, then?" Clark said, feeling a little like he'd fallen down the rabbit hole sometime when he wasn't looking, and not just because this conversation was so horribly _bizarre_.

Truth be told, it might have more to do with the fact that he was reeling from the fake-memories, and still having a hard time figuring out which ones were right and which ones were... other. He couldn't tell the difference from the 'feel' of them at all; he was basically having to guess.

It hadn't helped that he'd thought the date of divergence later than Lex had told him, until Lex had corrected him otherwise.

Clark frowned as he slid himself upright slowly. He remembered the divergence in memories being later in time than that... but if Lex wasn't lying to him -- and he'd have no reason to do so -- he'd not had any memories to diverge _from_. So how did he have two sets of memories up to a divergent point in his head?

...Wait, was it possible that he actually had _two_ full sets of six-and-a-half years worth of fake memories in his head, and not just one, with one set having seemed more 'real', more likely than the other, and the other having been 'overwritten'? --But that would mean that he'd lived through _thirteen years_ of memories in three hours. ...Maybe it had just been the first two or three years that had repeated, the Black Mercy realizing it had been losing its hold and forcing his mind to 'start over'?

Though... the former would better explain the muffled feeling in his head that was still dogging his brain, wanting to turn into a headache again.

It still felt bizarre to be lounging in bed next to a potentially-cape-stealing Lex, though. That they were doing so in Lex's Penthouse suite didn't exactly help matters in the 'normalcy' department, either.

"I suppose I could just ask you for it," Lex said, tilting his head and giving him an inquisitive look.

Clark frowned, then rubbed his forehead to try and help ease the internal pressure (that reminded him a little too much for comfort of the feeling he'd had after waking up to a worried-looking Lex on a certain Smallville afternoon in a series of caves...)

"Why do you want to replace my cape, anyway?" Clark asked finally, trying to find some decent mental footing for this. "What's wrong with the one I have now?"

"Too red," he was told succinctly.

"I like red," Clark told him.

"No, you like blue," he was informed.

"I'm allowed to like more than one color," Clark said, giving Lex a look, because now Lex was just being _weird_.

"But if you liked red more, you'd have made your bodysuit that color," Lex pointed out.

"Well, yeah," Clark agreed with him, not really seeing where he was going with this.

Lex stared at him for a while, mind whirring away to who-knew-where, then he let out a long sigh.

"You haven't had anything to eat yet today," Lex said, closing the sewing book with a soft, definitive thump and leaving it behind on the mattress as he slid off the bed, upright, and made his way towards the door.

Clark blinked, frowned after him, then leaned across the bed and snagged Lex's book for him, before getting up and following after.

 _Yikes, it's 10 o'clock at night!_ Clark thought as he glanced around the living room and caught sight of a clock. He hadn't realized how long he'd been asleep.

But, remembering the date, he felt a little perturbed. Today was a Friday -- had Lex really stayed upstairs watching him this whole time?

"Lex?" Clark asked.

"Hm?" Lex said as he padded towards... a kitchenette. Clark followed him in, tentatively.

"Didn't you have work today?"

"I did."

Clark frowned a little, but when Lex glanced back at him, he got a small smirk.

"I went downstairs," Lex informed him. "You slept straight through."

Clark honestly wasn't sure if he felt _more_ or _less_ perturbed by that statement than he had been before.

Instead, he set Lex's book down on the counter by the refrigerator and meandered about the kitchen a little, feeling lost, and finally sat down on a stool to watch Lex... do something. Whatever it was, it involved pots, pans, microwaves, the stove, and stuff from the fridge.

Clark sighed, pillowed his head in his arms on the tabletop, and waited.

For what, he wasn't certain.

...But he _was_ certain, as he raised his head and stared down at the tabletop in front of him, that the last thing he'd have ever expected Lex to serve him was a slice of cake with a scoop of ice cream and a tall glass of milk.

~*~*~*~*~*~

"Cake?" Lex heard Super-Kent ask from behind him.

"And ice cream," Lex added, not bothering to turn around. The spaghetti sauce was always tricky...

"Why?"

"You said it was your birthday," Lex said, risking a glance over his shoulder, and oh, was he glad he did.

 _Hmm. I think I know why I was friends with Clark Kent back in Smallville._ That blush was definitely something worth viewing, and more than once. Lex turned back to the stove, poker-faced, and only smiled to himself in deep satisfaction once he was sure Super-Kent couldn't see it. _I wonder how else I could garner that response..._

"...You got me birthday cake?" he heard Kent say in quiet confusion, but there was just the lightest undertone of... surprise and _happiness_ , there.

"Mm, well, not quite," Lex admitted. "There is no icing writ upon it, to protect the secretive among us, and I doubt candlewax would add anything useful to the flavor," he said, raising an eyebrow with another quick glance back at his... guest. Yes, Lex would be gracious enough to afford him a comfortable rest for the duration of his stay. That blush was payment enough.

And while Super-Kent's blush hadn't quite faded completely yet, he suddenly looked a little dour at the mention of secret identities. He kept his head pillowed on his arms, though, almost flat on the table, and stared at the plate as though he'd never seen cake and ice cream before.

"It'll melt into a soggy mess if you don't eat it," Lex verbally poked him, mildly, curious to see how he would respond.

"I can't just eat dessert first," Super-Kent said, tentatively poking at the slice with a fork.

Lex frowned slightly as he turned back to the bubbling red sauce. Lex hadn't eaten yet that evening, and the man ought to eat something now to tide him over after missing at least two meals, as well. Unfortunately, dinner was going to take awhile with Lex being the one attempting to cook it. It would be unconscionable for Lex to try and poke his chef into making something for them so late, and he didn't want to eat takeout tonight; thus, cooking it was, and more time it would take. Not that this should have been a problem in the first place, because, quite frankly, Super-Kent's reaction was-- "Odd. I thought that that was the entire point of birthday cake: eating it first."

" _You_ don't have any cake," Super-Kent murmured back as though it were a challenge, so Lex sighed, grabbed another fork, and nabbed a small corner of it, deftly sliding the bit of chocolate cake into his mouth. _Hm. Not bad, if I do say so myself._

"Hey!" Super-Kent squawked, and Lex blinked at him. ...Hadn't the problem been a lack of trust in the foodstuff? Lex would have thought it reassuring that he'd taken a bite of it himself, proving a lack of poisons included in the-- "I meant you should get your own slice, not steal some of mine!"

Lex had a very strong urge to smirk at Super-Kent ...which he decided to manage by _actually smirking at Super-Kent_. Really, why wouldn't he indulge himself? The man was just too fun to play with, even if he was a bit naive. "Oh? But what if I want your piece?"

Super-Kent blinked at him, looking slightly stunned for a moment.

Then the man grinned and said, "Okay -- but only if I get to steal your piece."

"I don't have a piece," Lex negotiated, wondering where that grin had sprung up from -- frankly, that sort of thing ought to require a permit, maybe even FDA approval; it was hazardous to his health, if the way his heart had skipped a beat was any indication.

"Fine -- where's the cake? I'll cut you a slice, and then we can swap," Super-Kent said, pushing himself up from his chair.

"Steal, not swap," Lex corrected bluntly, but there was really no bite to his tone, and he knew it.

Lex eyed Super-Kent as he rummaged through the kitchen cabinets a bit more than Lex believed should be necessary for someone who supposedly had x-ray vision. Soon enough, and without the use of any super-speed -- unfortunate, because he'd like to observe that close-up outside of an confrontational setting -- he had his very own plate of cake and ice cream.

And then, with a weighty air, Super-Kent met Lex's eyes and held his gaze, as he simultaneously took hold of the two plates on the kitchen table... and swapped their positions.

Lex gave him a look.

Kent's eyes seemed to be laughing at him.

Lex was unamused.

\--blorp!--

Lex closed his eyes with a carefully-cultivated infinite patience and took a deep, cleansing breath.

He looked down.

...Damn spaghetti sauce, bubbling up too hot and _getting_ him. Every damn time!

"Oh, geez, Lex!" Super-Kent exclaimed at the mess of red across his shirt and tie, as Lex grimaced, turned down the heat on the sauce, and reached for a towel, despite knowing full well that it was far too late for damage control.

The next thing Lex knew, Kent had managed to get his shirt and tie off and into the kitchen sink, and the super-powered being was scrubbing at the Italian designer-wear with cold water and scolding Lex good-naturedly about how he should wear a ratty t-shirt and apron when cooking. The way Kent was talking, it almost sounded like he might have been giving a lecture that Lex had already received once before.

Lex suppressed a sigh and wondered whether those particular articles of clothing would survive a watery dunking and scrubbing, no matter how gentle. They were supposed to be dry-cleaned only, was his understanding.

When he did finally wander to his bedroom closet at Kent's half-yelled out prodding from the kitchen, where the man was still otherwise engaged -- in trying to find an apron for each of the two of them -- Lex dove into the very back of it and, much to his surprise, did in fact find a small collection of what he believed to be 'ratty old t-shirts'.

As Lex stared at the offending and very out-of-place clothing which he did, in fact, own, despite all odds, he began to realize something. When he rejoined Kent in the kitchen, ratty t-shirt already on his person, with one for Kent as well that looked to even be in the man's size, and received a briliant grin and a large apron for his trouble, he got a sneaking suspicion.

But when he was elbow-to-elbow with Clark in the kitchen, cutting onions as Clark stirred sauces -- 'for the greater good of sparing really expensive clothing from further injury, no, aprons are not enough, Lex, move over' -- and helped Lex keep an eye on the spaghetti while they made salad, wholly at ease in this completely incongruous situation, with cake and ice cream forgotten in the shuffle of fabric-stain-related concern, Lex considered his suspicions fully confirmed. It was something that he never in his wildest dreams would ever have even considered to be true: before Lex had lost his memories, he and Clark had apparently been good enough friends that they had cooked together on a regular-enough basis _that Lex still had clothing in his closet that fit him_.

It was beyond shocking -- it was **revelatory**.

And just as Lex was on the cusp of this revelation and what it might mean, Lois Lane walked in.

~*~*~*~*~*~


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somebody complained about a cliffy, so you get an additional much shorter chapter. (I can't post any more for a bit, though, so this is it for tonight.)

~*~*~*~*~*~

Lois was _not_ having a good day.

She would have slammed open the door of the Penthouse suite and stomped in, ready to deal some damage. The only problem with that was that Luthor's assistant had let her in -- so no door-slamming -- and her three-inch heels were not doing their job properly as she attacked the thick carpeting with muted thumps as she went.

She added it to her list of things to be irate about. At the top of the list was Luthor's sheer audacity. Chloe had repeated his words verbatim and, seriously, what the fuck? Was that supposed to be some sort of innuendo? She had a fiance, for god's sake, and she'd made sure that _everybody_ knew it! Smallville was hers, damnit! Cat Grant could keep on keeping her claws off him, and nevermind that Clark was caught up right now doing Superman work 24-7 (which was driving her crazy, she had needs, damnit!), the woman needed to keep her running mouth off of his assets, too. (What the hell had happened to laying low at work? She shouldn't've been fawning over him anymore!)

It was a sad day when Cat Grant was higher up on her shit list than Luthor, but this day had been turning into one of those days, until she'd gotten that call from STAR Labs, and then another from Chloe.

"Okay, Luthor, what the hell is this about a 'one-on-one interview _in private_ ' and who the hell do you think you--" Lois came to a screeching halt as she surveyed the scene in the kitchen: two men, both familiar, both in aprons and ratty t-shirts. One in blue pajamas, no socks or shoes, the other in italian loafers, dark socks, and tailored pants. They were bent over a pan of tomato sauce, and they both looked up at her at the same time blankly, like there totally wasn't anything wrong with this picture.

"What the fuck," Lois said flatly, because, just, there were no words...

Clark managed to look sheepish, while Luthor straightened slowly and gave her a once-over in return. "It's about time," Luthor said.

"Oh, hey, you invited her for spaghetti and cake, too?" Clark said, brightening and turning to look at Luthor with a happy grin.

 _Spaghetti and whaa--? Jesus._ Lois pinched the bridge of her nose. "S--" _mallville_ she began to say with as much exasperation she could manage after such a tiring day, because this was _not_ Superman behavior -- this was _pure Clark_ , and, really, she loved him dearly, but, god, _Luthor? **seriously?!?**_ \-- but then she remembered how Emil had told her that Luthor had been the one who'd brought Superman in to STAR Labs earlier that day, and paused.

It didn't help her mood that Clark and Luthor exchanged a _look_ while she was doing so.

"What? She knows!" Clark said defensively.

"...I know what, exactly?" Lois said slowly, looking at the two of them.

The look Clark gave her was kind of sickening, how his face fell all at once. "I... um..." He glanced between her and Luthor like a dog trying to choose between two owners. It made her head and heart hurt.

It also made her want to punch Luthor through a wall, because there was no way in _hell_ that Clark could've been implying what he had sounded like he'd been implying...

"There isn't any surveillance in your apartment here, is there?" Clark asked Luthor hopefully. Luthor looked at him like he was out of his flipping mind and, oh christ, she'd been staring at too many hours of video footage of Luthor if she was picking up things like that, now...

Wait.

_Oh, Clark, you didn't..._

Luthor stood there, leaning back against the countertop, and glared up at Clark like he was a complete moron. Clark stood there and kept looking down at Luthor, all hopeful smiles.

 _...goddamnit, you did,_ Lois groaned, mentally facepalming. _Smallville, I know you said that fighting him wouldn't solve anything, but this is taking it way too far._

Luthor sighed in irritation. "Otis only had orders to see Miss Lane upstairs, and there is no surveillance in the Penthouse of any kind," he said, his tone making it clear that he thought Clark a fool for even _suggesting_ that that might not be the case.

...which was weird, because Lois would've sworn the opposite were true, from the way Luthor had been acting.

 _You know what? Screw this._ Lois was having a bad day, and she deserved some cake.

"This isn't poisoned, is it?" she said, grabbing a plateful of half-melted ice cream and chocolate cake and eyeing it dubiously.

Clark made a horrified sound, while Luthor looked _gratified_ for some strange reason.

...Whatever. She pulled both plates over, sat down on a stool, and started munching on the one with a bite already out of it -- it was probably safe enough.

 _Fine, whatever. If the boys want to be all weird, let 'em be weird,_ she decided, as she grabbed a glass of milk too, for good measure, and settled in. _I can always call Chloe to send over the League to go all nuclear option on his ass later, if I have to._ And that would be something to see.

Speaking of which... if Chloe had actually been over here to be able to get a message from Luthor in-person, no less, why the hell hadn't she said anything about Clark being up here when she'd called?

...Great. Now she had to add her cousin to her ever-growing shitlist, too.

Lois bit down on a forkful of cake and chewed.

~*~*~*~*~*~

**Author's Note:**

> AN2: This one has echoes of various stories, it's a real Frankenstein's monster of riffed-off ideas, lemme tell ya'! ;)  
> Some of the more notables are:  
> [Smelt (Chapter 1)](http://archiveofourown.org/works/275206/chapters/435984) by legendarytobes -- Clark getting kicked out of his apartment, friction with Lois, trouble with hero work  
> [Pyrrhic (Chapter 4)](http://www.caffiends.net/viewstory.php?sid=303&textsize=0&chapter=4) by Perryvic and Zaganthi -- superheroes in the League taking Clark for granted, Lex being a bulwark of support  
> For The Man Who Has Everything -- the DC Timm!verse cartoon more than the comic book storyline


End file.
